Everything I am
by Schattengestalt
Summary: On most days, Sherlock likes what he sees in the mirror, but sometimes he just can't stand the sight of his own body. Trans*lock. Johnlock.


**Author Notes** : A slightly angsty (but also fluffy) OS to start the new year. I hope you all had a fantastic start into 2016 and that you will enjoy this story.^^

 **Trigger Warning:** Body dysphoria. If this triggers you, don't read on!

 **Everything I am**

It was a bad day.

Sherlock knew it as soon as he opened his eyes and became aware of his body. The body he had liked as a kid, had hated in his adolescence - and finally ignored - and had come to accept in his twenties. Still, only recently Sherlock had come to not only accept but actually like his body, just the way it was - at least, most of the time. Doctor John Watson - ex-army doctor, skilled surgeon, extraordinary shot and self-proclaimed blogger - certainly had a lot to do with Sherlock's changed view of himself. After all, John hadn't even batted an eye, when Sherlock had interrupted their first snogging session after a case to tell him that he was transgender.

Where Sherlock had expected disgust - Victor Trevor's reaction - or sexual curiosity - Sebastian Wilkes had seen Sherlock as an exotic sex toy - or mockery - too many to list their names - John had only given him a smile. Nothing had changed after Sherlock's admission to his friend. John still yelled at him for putting body parts in the fridge, backed him up during cases and made sure that Sherlock ate enough to keep his body working. Even sex wasn't a problem with John - like it had been with his former lovers - and Sherlock had grown rather fond of his body over the last four months. Certainly, John telling him how beautiful he found Sherlock was an important factor. Combine it with the fact that John never treated Sherlock like less of a man for what he was and everything was perfect... or as perfect as it could be.

Sherlock groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, willing his body to go back to sleep, so that he didn't have to start this terrible day. It was to no use and after another ten minutes of cursing his overactive mind, Sherlock threw back the covers and got up. He just hoped that some interesting case would come up today to keep his mind busy and allow himself to treat his body as the mere transport that it was. Otherwise, Sherlock knew that all of his thoughts would go in circles about how he looked like... and especially about what was - or rather _wasn't_ \- in his trousers.

Sherlock glared at his reflection in the full length mirror, as he selected his clothes - black trousers, a navy button down shirt and a jacket - for the day. Most times, Sherlock liked what he saw - a flat chest, nicely defined muscles and long legs - because the image in the mirror fitted the image he had of himself in his mind. But today, Sherlock's eyes flew to the spot between his legs right away and his jaw clenched in agony, when there wasn't... much to see.

Of course, Sherlock knew what he had between his legs and he had learned to live with it, when he had had to make the choice between killing himself with the next shot of cocaine or fighting for his life. It hadn't been an easy decision and Sherlock doubted that he would still be alive, if Mycroft and their parents hadn't helped Sherlock through the darkest time of his life. Learning that he would never get the chance to get his genitals adjusted - thanks to a nasty infection as a result of his abdominal hysterectomy - had driven Sherlock to the drugs.

Only the hard won realisation that he didn't have to define himself over his genitals - like everyone had done during Sherlock's teenage years - had saved him. He had managed to turn into the man he had always wanted to be and he was living the life he had chosen for himself and most of the time that was enough - especially since John had stumbled in Sherlock's life. Today, it wasn't and Sherlock wasn't able to turn off the feeling of absolute wrongness in regards to his body, even after he had dressed himself.

For a second, he thought about using a packer, but then decided against it. The shaped plastic had never done anything for his self-image and Sherlock doubted that would change today. No, he would just have to face the day and make the best of it.

OOO

"Oh damn it!"

Sherlock glared at the calendar in the kitchen, his eyes fixed on the red cross in the space for today's date. John was due back from his dull, one week long, medical conference in Ireland this evening. Sherlock would have been delighted about his boyfriend's return on any other day, but the prospect of John's return only caused a sickening feeling in his gut today. It wasn't that Sherlock didn't want to have John back at the flat - quite the opposite - but John's return couldn't have been timed worse. If he had come back yesterday, Sherlock would have welcomed him with Chinese takeaway - if there hadn't been any cases or experiments - and passionate sex - if John wasn't too tired. If John had been due back tomorrow, Sherlock might have been able to pull of the same welcome for his boyfriend - his more extreme cases of body dysphoria thankfully never lasted long - but not today.

Sherlock imagined sex with John, how he used to touch and kiss Sherlock everywhere and a disgusted shudder ran down his spine. It wasn't directed at John or at the sex they usually had, but at Sherlock's own body. If someone had offered him the chance to extract his mind from his body, Sherlock would have accepted it right away. It would have made everything so much easier.

Of course, Sherlock reasoned, as he set the kettle to boil to make himself a much needed tea, he could also tell John that he didn't feel like having sex, when his boyfriend arrived home. It had happened before and John hadn't been overly disappointed about it. Still, at these occasions, Sherlock had been busy with a case or some sort of experiment. Reasons, John could accept easily, but Sherlock had never avoided sex, because he hadn't felt comfortable in his own skin. As far as John knew, Sherlock was content with his body and he didn't want his boyfriend to see him in a different light, if he learned of Sherlock's body dysphoria.

The water in the kettle boiled and Sherlock turned the heat off to prepare his tea and then left the mug sitting on the kitchen table as he stared at the wall. John was always eager to have sex, after they had been apart for any length of time and mostly Sherlock looked forward to their passionate lovemaking. Therefore, John would be highly disappointed if Sherlock denied it to him tonight. He might even start questioning why he put up with Sherlock as a boyfriend at all, if he only received body parts in the fridge and unhealthy takeaway for his efforts.

If Sherlock had been more rational about it, he would have realised that John wasn't like that. He wasn't the kind of man to question a relationship, because his partner was having troubles with his self image. Deep down, Sherlock was aware of that, but he couldn't think straight right now. His only goal was to keep his troubles from John, in order to make his boyfriend stay with him and if that meant having sex with him tonight... then Sherlock would pull it off, no matter how his body reacted to it. He nodded to himself and gulped the - now lukewarm - tea down, before putting the mug next to the sink.

John wouldn't find him lacking tonight, Sherlock decided as he moved to the living-room and busied himself with an experiment for the rest of the day. He hoped that it would stop his mind from shying away from his plan. Everything would turn out well, as long as he was able to ignore the feeling of wrongness that seemed to radiate from between his legs.

OOO

"Spicy chicken with noodles and green curry with rice," Sherlock deduced as soon as John opened the door to their flat, without looking up from his sample of mud.

"I'm happy to see you, as well, love." John's voice was warm with affection and when Sherlock finally met his gaze, he was treated to the brilliant smile of his boyfriend. His heart skipped a beat at the beloved sight and Sherlock felt an answering pull at his lips, when John bent down and pressed a kiss to his jaw. The flat always appeared empty without John in it and Sherlock was more than happy to have him back at home, where he belonged. Though, instead of telling John how much he had been missed, Sherlock let his gaze roam over his boyfriend and wrinkled his nose. "I told you that the seminar would be boring and that you wouldn't get nearly enough sleep, thanks to the early start of it and your habit to visit the pubs with the imbeciles that call themselves doctors."

"Hey, some of them were really nice," John protested as he moved Sherlock's samples away and dished out the takeaway, but there was no real heat in his voice. "I had an interesting discussion about hospital hygiene with Michael - Doctor Gibbson, that's it - and he..."

"He was more interested in getting into your pants than in listening to whatever point you had to make about the topic." Sherlock got up from behind his microscope to sit down across from John, where his dinner had already been placed. His eyes darkened as they fell on the loose button of John's shirt. It was obvious that someone had played with it, when John had already been too tipsy to think anything of the action, because John wouldn't allow such liberties, when he was sober. Otherwise, he would have already searched for and found the piece of paper, in the pocket of his jeans. Obviously, the other doctor had written down his mobile number for John and hoped that John returned his interest.

No, Sherlock trusted John that he wouldn't cheat on him. His boyfriend was always nice to all kind of people, but he didn't flirt with anyone on purpose, when he was in a committed relationship. That much, Sherlock had gathered from his observations and therefore he stopped himself from making any cutting remarks about Doctor Gibbson, although he couldn't help himself but wonder if John would have accepted his advances if Sherlock hadn't been in his life. Would he have gone for a quick fling, while away on a boring seminar and would John regret not getting laid, if Sherlock rejected him tonight?

Sherlock swallowed a mouthful of his curry, without tasting anything as he regarded John across the table. He wasn't as sexually active anymore as he had been in his twenties - naturally - but John still rather enjoyed sex and...

"Are you alright?"

Light blue eyes looked worriedly at him and Sherlock hurried to put a guilty smile on his face as he shoveled rice into his mouth. "I fear this dinner is the first meal since yesterday's lunch." The confession should explain Sherlock's quietness and why he had avoided John's gaze for the duration of the dinner. Thankfully, John wasn't as observant as Sherlock was and therefore only rolled his eyes at his words and heaped another portion of curry on Sherlock's plate. "And here I thought I could leave you alone for a week, without you starving yourself to death. Of course, it's too much to expect a grown man to eat three square meals a day."

It was their usual argument and Sherlock relaxed back in his chair as he dug into the curry - the confession about his last meal had held the truth. "I'm not like most men, John." As soon as the words left his mouth, Sherlock tensed. He knew that John wouldn't make a mocking comment about his body - he wasn't like Victor - but the reaction was instinctive and he wasn't able to suppress it. Not when Sherlock had been hyper aware of what was _wrong_ with his body all day long.

"No you aren't," John nodded, seemingly oblivious to Sherlock's distress as he managed to balance a piece of chicken on his chopsticks. "You are the most brilliant man I have ever met and the only consulting detective in the world, still," And here John frowned at Sherlock. "You can't starve yourself, while I'm away. Your body can only endure so much before it protests against your treatment of it in its own way."

Usually, at this point, Sherlock would have listed all the reasons why the consummation of food slowed him down and that he was perfectly aware of the limits of his body, but tonight he only nodded and sent John a rueful smile. Sherlock didn't want to discuss - or even think - of his body right now. Not, when he would become hyperaware of it again later this evening. Finding out about Gibbson's interest in John had strengthened Sherlock's resolve to have sex with his boyfriend, tonight - no matter how he felt about it.. He couldn't allow John to think back to the other doctor and regret that he hadn't been free to enjoy a night with him. That just wasn't on!

Therefore, Sherlock ignored the goose bumps that rose all over his body at the thought of physical intimacy and reached for John's hand across the table. And he was almost able to make himself believe that everything would be fine, when John intertwined their fingers. Almost.

OOO

"That's utterly crap! It's not possible to clone dinosaurs from the DNA that's found in fossil resin. Besides, I could have already told you five minutes into the movie who was going to die and..."

"We didn't even know all the characters five minutes into the movie."

Sherlock huffed at John's point, but snuggled closer to his boyfriend all the same, until his head rested on John's shoulder - his good one. "One doesn't have to be a genius to figure out what characters will play a role in such a movie. The names of them don't matter."

Next to Sherlock, John sighed, but it wasn't an annoyed sigh, but a rather fond one. The theory was proven correct, when John reached for the remote to turn off the TV and then turned his head to place a kiss on Sherlock's jaw. "I got it, you are not interested in Jurassic Park. Next time, we can try another DVD. Maybe, you are going to like the film versions of Agatha Christie's novels better."

Sherlock only raised an eyebrow at that and received a chuckle in return from John. "Never mind, I'm sure we can find something else to entertain ourselves." The direction in which this was going was obvious. Lazy sex on the couch was one of John's favorite activities, after an exhausting week and when Sherlock had vetoed everything on TV. Sometimes, Sherlock used that knowledge to his advantage by complaining about the utter crap that passed as movies, even before they had reached the couch to change the outcome of the evening.

Not this evening though and Sherlock cursed himself inwardly for proclaiming the dinosaurs movie a waste of time, when a heavy weight settled in the pit of his belly at the thought of sex. Still, it wasn't a normal evening. John had just come home after a week's absence and therefore he would have desired sex, no matter if Sherlock had been willing to watch the movie or not. He should better get it over with, before John picked up on how uncomfortable Sherlock was with the idea of getting intimate.

Maybe, it wasn't fair to John, Sherlock reasoned as he angled his head in the right position for a heated kiss and allowed his boyfriend to draw Sherlock on his lap. Still, it was better than the alternative of John realising that Sherlock wasn't as confident a man as John believed him to be. Then, John wouldn't think so highly of him anymore and that just couldn't be allowed to happen.

Sherlock placed his hands on John's shoulders, stabilizing himself as he straddled John's lap, and opened his mouth to deepen the kiss. Actually, this part wasn't bad at all. Kissing John was always enjoyable, especially when he was holding Sherlock as close as he did right now, with his hands wandering up and down Sherlock's back. Yes, definitely very enjoyable, Sherlock decided and nipped playfully at John's lower lip. John`s arms tightened around him and a shudder ran through Sherlock's body, when he was pressed more firmly into John's lap. His boyfriend was already half-hard, Sherlock noted, while he tried to concentrate on the kiss, when John's cock nudged him through the material of their trousers. It was at this point that Sherlock's insides tied themselves in a tight knot. If he were _normal_ , if his body were like it should be, then there would be an answering bulge in Sherlock's trousers. They could rub their cocks together, instead of...

Sherlock gripped John's shoulders harder, to prevent himself from jumping off his lap and hiding in his room. John would notice that something was wrong, if Sherlock acted like that. He would ask questions and then... then...

"Hey, Sherlock! Breathe!" John's hands were on his cheeks, forcing Sherlock to meet the worried gaze of his boyfriend. Shit, his attention had only slip for a second and now John had noticed that something was amiss.

Sherlock took a deep breath and forced a small smile on his lips, which would hopefully placate John. "It's fine, I only got carried away... it's been so long since I had you like this and..."

"Don't give me that shit!" Sherlock flinched at the hard tone of John`s voice. "It's quite obvious that you didn't get carried away. You aren't even aroused."

Sherlock put everything he had in his glare and pushed John's hands away from his face. "And pray tell, how do you know that I'm not aroused?"

Usually, Sherlock wouldn't ask such a question - it put him in a bad position - but this time he rather hoped that John would say the wrong thing. That his boyfriend would mention his genitals or compare Sherlock to one of his former girlfriends. It would do nothing for Sherlock's self-image, but at least he would have a valid reason to leave the flat angrily. John would apologize the next day, feeling utterly guilty and they would never speak of it again. At least that was Sherlock's hastily created plan, until John directed a long suffering look at him. "We have been together for four months and living together for a year, Sherlock. I know you and I can tell when you enjoy yourself and when you don't. So, just tell me what's wrong and don't try to provoke me."

A shaky breath escaped past Sherlock's lips. On any other day, he would have been delighted at John's words, but tonight, it only meant that he didn't have a valid reason to leave. If Sherlock left, John would only get more persistent about finding out what had gone wrong. After all, John was a very considerate lover and he wouldn't drop the matter until Sherlock told him what had gone wrong. For a second, Sherlock considered lying, but he decided against it right away. John was the only one, who could occasionally tell when Sherlock was being dishonest. Considering that Sherlock wasn't at his best tonight, the chances were high that John would see right through any lie.

Gentle fingers were running through his curls and Sherlock sacked forward, hiding his face in the crook of John's neck as the soothing gesture made him relax somewhat. Maybe, John would understand him if Sherlock told him what was bothering him. Even though, experiences had taught Sherlock that the chances for that to happen were almost non-existent, but he didn't see any other way out of this situation.

"After I came out to my family, I always presented as male." John's fingers stopped moving for a second, but then they continued their soothing rhythm. "It wasn't easy and I... there were a lot of kids that... used to make fun of... they didn't believe me that I was a boy, because I didn't have... a penis." Sherlock closed his eyes against the hot moisture that threatened to escaped.

"Arseholes;" John muttered in his hair and a soft kiss was pressed to Sherlock's cheek. "As if that's a requirement for being a man."

A single tear ran down Sherlock's cheek, but he forced himself to continue, although he was aware that his next words would disappoint John. "I believed that they were right, because... I felt... incomplete without a penis and I wanted to... I was looking forward to my eighteenth birthday to start with the surgeries."

No judgmental comment, only another kiss pressed to his forehead and Sherlock drew strength from it. "I started with top surgery, right before I went away to university and then... I... it was..."

"You know, love," John's voice was as gentle as his hands, which held Sherlock, as he murmured into his ear. "If you want to talk about your medical history, I'm going to listen, but you don't have to tell me. I will never ask that of you, so please, don't force yourself to do it."

Sherlock heaved a relieved sigh and nodded against John's warm skin. It would have been too painful to relive the memories of that time. The insecurities, the hope and the... despair. If he skipped some parts, John should still be able to get the overall picture.

"I was in my last year of university, when the... I couldn't get one surgery, due to... a former infection." Sherlock swallowed against the lump in his throat and held onto John's jumper for dear life as he waited for his boyfriend to make the connection. He knew that John wouldn't leave him right away, not when Sherlock was in such a state, but he would leave eventually, when he realized that Sherlock wasn't... that he would never be completely comfortable in his own skin.

"That's why you started using."

The laugh that came out sounded more like a sob, but Sherlock couldn't help but marvel at John's tendency to pick out the less important facts. "Yes, and I... still don't have a penis." Sherlock just wanted John to understand what he was telling him, so that they could get this over with.

"That doesn't make you less of a man." John's voice was made of pure steel as his arms tightened around Sherlock, almost to the point where it became painful. "You are a man and I'll put a bullet through the head of everyone, who dares implying otherwise."

Sherlock cracked a smile at that, but still didn't dare looking up to meet John's eyes. "Then you will have to kill me at one point, because on certain days," Sherlock wanted John to understand that he didn't feel bad about his body all the time. "I feel... incomplete."

"Body dysphoria," John murmured and then fell silent.

Sherlock's heart thrummed painfully inside his ribcage as he waited for John to come to a conclusion. He would see Sherlock in a different light afterwards and then, it would only be a matter of time, until John broke up with him. More tears ran down Sherlock's cheeks, but he didn't have the strength to hold them back anymore as John kept silent.

"I'm sorry," Sherlock chocked out. "I should have told you, but I thought... I didn't want you to know how... lacking I am."

That got him a reaction from John, who pushed at Sherlock's shoulders, until he held him at arms' length and their eyes met. Sherlock couldn't deduce what was going on in John's mind. Partly, because of his blurred vision and also because he didn't want to _see_ the moment, when John decided that it was over.

"You aren't lacking, love. Not more than anyone else, although," John cracked a smile at him. "Your tendency to store body parts in the fridge certainly leaves something to be desired. Still, you should have told me how you felt, so that I could have finished watching Jurassic Park."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock repeated, not even able to hate himself for the way his voice cracked. Of course, John was right, he had ruined the whole evening and now John wouldn't have anything to enjoy and...

"Hey, hey, I didn't mean it like that." Tender fingers wiped away the tears that were leaking freely from Sherlock's eyes. "I tried my hand on a joke, sorry for that, it wasn't... I didn't want to imply that I'm disappointed with how the evening went."

"But you are." Even Anderson would be able to notice that John was upset.

"I'm disappointed, because you didn't trust me enough to tell me that you didn't feel like having sex tonight."

Sherlock barked a bitter laugh at that. "What was I supposed to say, _John, I feel the absence of my penis immensely today and I can't stand the thought of indulging in sexual activities right now. Don't worry though, I seldom hate my body that much nowadays. At least, I don't feel the urge to commit suicide any longer."_

John's eyes widened momentarily, even as he pressed his lips into a thin line and Sherlock knew that he had pushed it too far. John could forgive him a ruined evening, but not such a mocking reply on top of everything. Hands tightened on Sherlock's shoulders and he prepared himself for being pushed away. For John rushing out of the flat and getting drunk at a pub, only to stumble home at dawn to pack his belongings and...

"I know that it's a lacking comparison, but sometimes, when I look in the mirror, I hate what I see as well." Sherlock blinked, unable to imagine how John could find himself lacking in any way. "My scar," John nodded to his left shoulder. "Most days, I'm fine with it and on other days, I hate it. I highly doubt that it's as bad a feeling as what you are experiencing, but... I just want you to know that you aren't lacking in any way for hating your body sometimes. And if you need me, I will always be there for you and I certainly won't be disappointed or angry if you don't feel like having sex... How did you even get that idea in your thick head?!"

John was honest.

Yes, there was hurt in his eyes and he looked disappointed for Sherlock's lack of trust in him, but... he meant what he had said. He didn't think less of Sherlock for his insecurities. John just accepted them as a part of Sherlock. The tension drained out of Sherlock's body at the realisation and he sacked forwards, until John was supporting his complete weight.

"You know, I would love to kill whoever made you feel bad about your body and the way you see yourself," John murmured as he rearranged them on the couch, until John was sprawled half on top of Sherlock, with the covers drawn over both of them. It wasn't the most comfortable position in the world, but as long as it meant that they were close together, Sherlock couldn't be bothered to waste a thought on a aching back as he snuggled up to John.

"I love you." It was a quiet whisper, but from the way John's breath stocked, it was obvious that he had heard him. Sherlock had never said these three words, because he hadn't wanted to make himself even more vulnerable. But after John had seen everything of him and accepted... No, still _wanted_ him the way he was, Sherlock felt like it was time to inform his boyfriend about his feelings for him verbally.

"I love you, too, Sweetheart." John's words, were the last ones, that were spoken that evening, as they stayed together on the couch. They didn't sleep and they didn't talk, but they held onto each other and bathed in the warmth and emotions that surrounded them and as far as Sherlock was concerned, it was perfect. As perfect as it could ever be.


End file.
